


But a Game

by zenonaa



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: F/M, beta verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:12:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5848081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenonaa/pseuds/zenonaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you know why Kirigiri died? It’s because she took this too seriously. All that snooping around she did... inevitably, it was going to piss someone off.”</p><p>Beta Dangan Ronpa. Togami bumps into Ishimaru one night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But a Game

Had the last part of his night gone as intended, Byakuya would have headed straight back to his room and fallen asleep after spending the last several hours cooped up in the library, at a desk, piles of books arranged around him that, though they hid most of his body from view, more importantly hid others from view. Throughout the evening, various classmates wandered into the library, some to browse, some to read for twenty minutes, in a different corner to him, rarely for longer, never for more than an hour, but all came to pass time. Byakuya occasionally glanced up upon hearing footsteps, upon hearing intakes of breath and fumbling hands on loud pages of books, and he felt relief each time someone left.

Monobear’s scratchy voice had announced it to be ten o’clock some time ago but Byakuya wasn’t sure if this memory of Monobear announcing the time took place a few hours prior or on a totally different night. He set down his book onto a clear bit of desk, dug his hand into his jacket pocket and got out his pocket watch. In the library’s terrible lighting, he struggled to discern where the hands on his pocket watch were pointed, and the haze in his vision was intensified by his wilting eyelids. The desk lamp that he retrieved from the back room bled light through the gaps between towers of skimmed books, barely reaching him with its glow, and Byakuya pushed aside one pile of books so he could hold his watch closer to the desk lamp’s bulb.

It was almost two in the morning. Byakuya slipped his watch back into his pocket and straightened up. He rose to his feet and sauntered over to the door, hands in his pockets, deciding to not bother putting back any of the books that he accumulated. There was no need to. If the books were still there in the morning, it meant he wouldn’t have to hunt around for them and could resume his research right away. No rules insisted that students cleaned up after themselves. A different headmaster or teacher, one not preoccupied with encouraging their students to murder each other, might have been tempted to create a rule about keeping the school tidy, but not Monobear. Should their headmaster or teacher have been a kitten or a rabbit then perhaps things would be different, but bears apparently had other priorities. 

Besides, Monobear was keen on being their headmaster or teacher or some kind of amalgamation of the two roles. It could adopt the duties of a janitor as well if it really loved running the school like it claimed.

By now, Byakuya had learned that no one else was ever up at this time of night because everyone but him had scared themselves into hiding in their rooms as soon as Monobear made its daily nighttime announcement. They wouldn’t emerge until morning, so no one greeted Byakuya in the first corridor that he entered, no one caught his eye on the stair well and he approached the dorms without a human-shaped stain on his memories. He stepped into the final corridor and rubbed his knuckles against his eyes, inflicting just enough of a burning sensation to last them to his bed, and he followed up his first step with several more.

“Togami-kun,” came a voice from up ahead.

Byakuya took one last step, bringing him a dozen paces away from his room, and forced himself to focus on the other end of the corridor. The shadowy form lurking there grow larger, closer, still drawing closer by the time Byakuya identified it as being Kiyotaka Ishimaru, an amateur protagonist with hair that was slicked up and spiked, and now that Byakuya knew who it was, he relaxed.

To be clear, Byakuya had not been afraid and would not have become afraid even if it was someone like Sakura Oogami or Mondo Oowada who stood opposite him. Fear had no place in his world, so like he did all other bothersome emotions, he had omitted it from his life long ago. Kiyotaka squinted at Byakuya. He must have been aware that he was not Sakura Oogami or Mondo Oowada but a simple ex-hall monitor because he puffed out his chest in an attempt to seem more intimidating. 

“Togami-kun, why are you outside of your room? Did you lose track of time?” asked Kiyotaka.

“I know what time it is,” Byakuya replied, staring over Kiyotaka’s head. “It’s past two in the morning.” 

Apparently not satisfied with Byakuya’s answer, Kiyotaka pulled up his sleeve and checked his wristwatch for himself. A twitch quivered on his face. His shoulders sank.

“Y-Yes, it is,” admitted Kiyotaka. He breathed in deeply and regained his composure. “Then is it that you forgot we agreed we would all stay in our rooms during this period?”

“I had no involvement in that decision,” said Byakuya.

Kiyotaka pressed his lips together tightly. 

“We agreed that everyone would retire to their rooms at night,” said Kiyotaka with forced patience.

Byakuya smirked, still not looking directly at Kiyotaka. “You definitely should do that. Staying up past your bedtime has made you cranky... Do you want me to tuck you in and read you a story?”

“N-No...”

“Then run along,” said Byakuya coolly.

“This is serious!” Kiyotaka burst out, accidentally spitting. He pierced the air with his index finger, jabbing his finger in Byakuya’s direction. “Roaming around like this... heightens the chances of another fatality...!”

“Though another death would spice things up, I have no intentions of killing anybody for the time being. Speaking of killing, would it kill you to loosen up?” asked Byakuya, and he laughed at how appropriate his pun had been. 

Kiyotaka withdrew his arm, no longer pointing at Byakuya, and punched himself on the chest, just once. He scrunched up his face. All through this, he maintained eye contact and quite laughably, started to well up with tears. “How can you talk about killing so casually? Kirigiri-kun died and not even a week has elapsed, and yet... and yet you’re treating this like a joke.”

“Not like a joke,” said Byakuya, sobering, “but a game.”

Byakuya tucked one hand into a back pocket of his trousers and smirked. How his eyes must have gleamed, not because he was crying, not like Kiyotaka, who stared back at him in a disgusting, disgusting manner, but because of the amusement that bubbled in Byakuya’s chest that spread to his eyes, that spread to the corners of his upturned lips. He poked out his tongue and traced over his grin.

“Do you know why Kirigiri died?” asked Byakuya, and he swayed his hips to one side. “It’s because she took this too seriously. All that snooping around she did... inevitably, it was going to piss someone off.”

“You’re wrong.” Kiyotaka shook his head as if to break free of Byakuya’s words that constricted him. Foolish, really, because Byakuya spoke immovable truth. “Togami-kun, how can you talk like this about our friends?”

“First of all, none of you are my ‘friends’,” corrected Byakuya. He folded his arms over his chest and lifted his chin haughtily. “You are my opponents. If you had any brain cells, you would be thinking the same. I don’t know any of you and the only common goal that we share is that we need to kill someone to escape this prison. That is not something to make friendship bracelets about.”

Sure, as Kiyotaka was now, he provided Byakuya with some level of entertainment, but the novelty would wear off as they progressed through the game and for Kiyotaka’s own sake, he needed to stop running away from the inevitable. Byakuya didn’t care if Kiyotaka departed from the world of fantasy that he immersed himself in, where teamwork prevailed and only comic book villains killed people, or if he barricaded himself in. The latter would make Kiyotaka an easy target and Byakuya couldn’t complain heavily about that, but a change in tactics from Kiyotaka would certainly make the game more interesting.

Kiyotaka clenched his fist over his heart and said, “It’s that sort of outlook that will lead to another trial!”

“One will happen in due time, Ishimaru, so you should make sure it’s not yours,” said Byakuya, and he began to walk forward. “Now, I’m going to leave. This conversation has run its course.”

Byakuya passed by Kiyotaka.

“I... I can’t let you kill anyone,” said Kiyotaka. Byakuya kept walking. Kiyotaka raised his voice. “I won’t let you!”

Footsteps exploded behind Byakuya. A shiver shot up Byakuya and realising what was about to happen, he looked over his shoulder, but it was too late to dodge out of Kiyotaka’s path. Just like how Kiyotaka had been faster than Byakuya anticipated, he proved stronger too. He flung himself at Byakuya, knocking both of them down. The back of Byakuya’s head smacked into the ground. White pain erupted from the area of collision and gripped Byakuya tightly, throbbing in his head, and he cried out.

Pressure descended onto Byakuya’s lower stomach, and the feeble jolt that Byakuya gave was not enough to free himself. Slowly, far too slowly, the white that engulfed Byakuya’s vision started to dissolve. Kiyotaka, the cause of the pressure, seated on top of Byakuya, reached a hand down and seized the front of Byakuya’s shirt. Panting loudly, Kiyotaka gave Byakuya’s shirt a sharp tug and Byakuya’s head rose from the floor only by a tiny bit, but the difference meant he could see that Kiyotaka’s face had flushed red. Byakuya couldn’t see clearly yet, trapped in a haze of colours, but he soon distinguished Kiyotaka’s fist, which was pulled back and ready to charge forward in a punch.

“Go on,” whispered Byakuya. His eyes flitted from Kiyotaka’s fist to Kiyotaka’s face.

Kiyotaka responded with desperate deep breaths.

“Kill me,” dared Byakuya, sneering, and he tasted a thin layer of iron in his mouth. He swallowed.

The fist grasping Byakuya’s shirt tightened.

“What are you doing?” came a voice.

On hearing the voice, Kiyotaka’s hold loosened, but Byakuya didn’t try to break out of it. Instead, he listened to the dull thudding of shoes that crept nearer. He recognised the voice as Touko Fukawa’s, the literary girl who rarely spoke and who had a nervous tic of looking over her shoulder for potential assailants.

“We were just...” Kiyotaka released Byakuya’s shirt.

“You were going to kill him,” stated Touko.

The pressure on Byakuya’s stomach vanished as Kiyotaka stood up. He backed away from Byakuya, shaking.

“I... I don’t know what...” Kiyotaka trailed off. Several seconds crawled by but the end of his sentence was never vocalised. A new one forced its way out of Kiyotaka, strained. “S-Sorry.”

He let out a sob. Pathetic. Then, like the coward he was, Kiyotaka sprinted off.

With little delay, Byakuya lurched into a sitting position. His head still stung, especially at the back, but it didn’t compromise his vision anymore. Heart racing, he turned toward Touko, who was already walking away.

“W-Wait!” said Byakuya, and he scrambled to his feet.

She didn’t bother to slow down but she hadn’t been moving quickly in the first place, so he easily caught up to her, situating himself abreast.

“Thank you,” said Byakuya.

“I didn’t really do anything,” said Touko, eyes trained forward.

“That nutcase almost killed me. Had you not... been there, he wouldn’t have given up and ran away.” Byakuya stopped walking and grabbed Touko’s hand with both of his. “Thank you...”

Her pace remained unchanged. She continued to walk away and her arm straightened out behind her.

“... Fukawa-san,” he said, hushed.

Touko finally came to a stop but kept her face forward. Byakuya held his breath as he waited for an answer, face burning as much as his dry throat. Soon, he felt her hand try to pull out from his grip, so he released her, and the bridge that her arm had formed between them crumbled away. Her arm swung forward, back to the rest of her body, and wrapped around her middle, joining her other arm in hugging herself.

“I don’t want anything from you,” she told him, voice trembling halfway through.

The words that she uttered rang between Byakuya’s ears. His eyes widened.

She stalked off, having not looked back once, and she sustained this fact all the way to the door of her room. It shut behind her, too quietly for him to hear.

Byakuya ought to have done the same. He ought to have left. For one thing, Kiyotaka could have been lurking nearby and witnessed the entire exchange, and if so, he would know that Byakuya was alone again. Despite this, Byakuya watched Touko, his own body rooted to the spot, and even after she disappeared from sight, he lingered for an additional minute.

**Author's Note:**

> based on an rp between me and my best friend. <3
> 
> this isn't technically where it ends but the next bit is nsfw and i feel like i post way too much of that...


End file.
